


Actions and Reactions

by ChocoNut



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Smut, F/M, Jaime sports a new moustache, Loads of it, Mutual Pining, Roommates, SO, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, will be resolved in the end
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:15:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29680347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: One of them does something, the other suppresses what they feel about it.Until holding back is not an option anymore.Chapter 4 : On a Sunday morning, Jaime walks in on Brienne doing yoga. She insists he join her.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 37
Kudos: 95





	1. The (hot) moustache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime sports a moustache. Brienne finds it difficult to hide her reaction.

“Well?”

Brienne continues to hold back from offering an opinion, though her body and her senses have decided at first look what they think of this new development. 

“Tyrion finds it funny.” Jaime runs a thumb over his upper lip, clearly plagued by second thoughts about what he had assumed would be a makeover. “Sansa thinks I look like some comic villain from decades ago. Margaery’s face is worse than a thousand words of criticism, and Bronn—”

“I think the moustache is hot.”

But as soon as it’s out, Brienne’s world is on fire. Eager to get in and out of his sight, she attacks the doorknob, but in spite of having the right key in, a series of unsuccessful clicks is all she gets.

“Say that again?”

She doesn’t. And she doesn’t dare look at him. “I was obviously exaggerating,” she says, instead, faking a laugh which feels more like an awkward sound born of her nervousness and what she’s feeling between her legs. “I just meant it looks okay-ish. You might want to consider going back to your beard, though.”

“Why didn't you speak up in front of them?”

Caught red-handed, she knows better than to encourage his questions, or face his probing gaze, but her curiosity goes for the kill and she can’t help seek the assistance of the corner of her eye. What she finds gets her heart ramming harder into her ribs. He’s looking at her so hard, as if he's ripping open her mind and examining her thoughts. “You think _I am_ hot,” he says, eyes direct and intense and persistent, eager to pull the truth out of her. 

“I don’t,” she asserts, hoping it sounds defiant. She turns the knob harder, and when it doesn’t oblige her with more than rattle beneath her fingers, she curses her bad timing and her incompetence at something this mundane under her breath. “Alright,” she says, tired from the struggle with the door and whatever he’s striking her with. Diplomacy always helps cover up strong feelings. “It looks neither good nor bad—”

“You fancy me.”

She opens her mouth to shoot down his allegation, but checks herself when footsteps up the stairs tell her they have company.

When a neighbour passes them, Jaime steps into her space to make way. “Why don’t you admit it, Brienne?” he says softly, lips almost on her ear when they are alone again, his hand brushing hers gently.

So close he is, that she has to remember to breathe, but she shakes this feeling away, forcing every pore of her back to normal.

“I won’t because I don’t fancy you,” she lies through her teeth, and firmly, because any other way will only egg him on, prompting him to tease her to death. Certain that she’s bound to crumble in a battle like that with him, she diverts her energy to the task at hand—getting them inside, and her out of his prying attention. Friends. That’s all they are. That is what they will be. While the thought frustrates her to no end, there’s no other way to it. “I think it’s time we call it a night. I’ve had a long day and I’m tired—”

Words turn into nothing when his hand comes down on hers, anchoring her grip. His fingers caressing hers, pressing her fingers into the cold metal, he leans closer, his face mere inches from hers.

“Jaime,” she whispers, and when his proximity begins to work its usual magic, his outwardly harmless touch rapidly trickling into parts of her she’d rather not be drawn to here and now, she’s a messy six-feet-three of hormones and feelings and everything that boils down to this attractive friend of hers. “Jaime, I think—”

“I think it opens the other way round,” he says, turning her hand counter-clockwise to correct her mistake. When her mission is, at last, accomplished, he lets go with a smile. “Goodnight, Brienne. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She stands there for several embarrassing seconds, flustered at the heated conclusions she had impulsively jumped into when he held her hand like that. Then willing away whatever he has left her with, she follows him in and hurries to her room. 

It’s going to be a tough night full of moustaches and stubbles. Maybe beards, too, his whiskers and all getting to where they’ll be more than just a tingle down her spine.

And that sexy chest hair on the soft curves of her breasts, brushing, rubbing...

And the full course of its descending trail, tapering down its the way to—

She pours herself a glass of water and sinks into her bed, glad he can’t see her right now.

How, in the name of the seven, is she going to sleep tonight?


	2. Damn the downpour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One her way home from a date with Renly, Brienne's caught in a downpour and ends up at their doorstep drenched to the skin.

Being around his roommate these days has become walking on eggshells.

What began the evening Jaime sought her opinion on his much-mocked-at moustache has not let go of him yet. The stash is long gone, but the memories remain. For the glorious duration of her struggle with the door, he’d thought he had seen something in her eyes. But he had misjudged her blush-decorated cheeks, mis-read the shivers that met his touch. It had been something, just not the something he was hoping for. Her response was no different from any other woman’s. Sansa had, once or twice, mentioned in passing that he was hot. Margaery had made statements that no woman in her right senses would turn down his advances. 

So why did he have to read between the lines when Brienne let slip her compliment?

Hot in her eyes does not mean she fancies him. Her reaction that day could have only one explanation - awkwardness stemming out of embarrassment. While she didn’t shun his touch, she didn’t relish it either. A week has passed between them and now with neither of them broaching the subject, and every minute, Jaime has spent treading carefully around her. 

In her presence is one thing, even when she’s out, he finds himself spending more thoughts than necessary on her.

Barely attentive to the TV, he strokes his cheek absently; like the casual _hot_ comment, maybe she didn’t mean anything apart from a friendly suggestion when she mentioned his beard in passing. He should probably shave it off—now that she is going out with Renly, it shouldn’t matter if he’s clean-shaven or scruffy. 

_Renly fuckin’ Baratheon._

He switches to a channel where two guys are mercilessly beating each other up. Engrossed, he begins watching without context, enjoying the progress of the bout, effortlessly slipping himself in place of the one gaining an upper hand and picturing Renly’s pretty face getting smashed again and again and again.

“Serves you right for seizing a chance with my wench,” he mutters, shamelessly deriving pleasure from every blow and every bruise to decorate his adversary’s delicate skin. 

But bored with that, too, he flicks it shut and gets to the next installment of his ten-minutely walk to the window. Still no sign of a car or a cab at the gate. A beep on his wrist says it’s 11 p.m, quite late by usual standards for a first date. To top that is the torrential downpour. Rain in February in King’s Landing, and that, too, on a day Brienne is out with the man of her dreams—could it be worse? 

_It sure could be,_ says a corner of him that sometimes comes up with ominous scenarios. Citing the excuse of the rain, Renly might insist on her spending the night in his place. Drenched to the skin with no change of clothes, she’d have no choice but to make do with his bathrobe that’ll cover not much, leaving exposed a good part of her long legs. Unable to reach all the way down to her zipper, she might even ask him to lend a hand, and when he does, it’s only natural for one thing to lead to the next and—

 _No._

Pushing away the ill-feelings, he pulls out his last-dialed list, and just when he’s about to check on her, the doorbell rings.

A sigh of release escapes him as he hurries to open the door. And in the bowl on the door-side cabinet is her key. Such excitement for the date that she missed taking it with her! Irked by the attention her new attraction commands, he swears under his breath.

But there’s one less thing to complain. At least she’s back home tonight. 

“I can’t help the mess,” she sheepishly mumbles, glancing down at the soggy doormat and her dripping clothes. “We can get the other one out and—”

She’s going on about her damage rectification plan, but Jaime can do nothing but stare—no, ogle at her in return. 

“Jaime—”

“Sorry—I—” He looks her up and down. Her clothes hugging her, highlighting every aspect of her figure and every small detail of every curve, she’s a sexy sight for his sore eyes. “I was expecting you a lot earlier,” he says, returning to his crisp tone to disguise what’s waking up in his pants. “It’s been raining and—”

“I’m a big girl, Jaime.” She enters, and as he pushes the door shut, he’s hit by a craving for her touch, the need to have that wet body against his, a ravenous hunger that can only be satisfied by the softness of her lips and the hardness of her teeth as she leaves little bites all over him. “I don’t need to be tracked like this.”

“So… Renly didn’t drop you home?” he asks hopefully.

“I don’t need him to. I can find my way home.”

“Quite un-chivalrous of him,” he remarks, jumping at the chance to find faults with her potential boyfriend. “If I were him—”

“You’re not him,” she says, her eyes flashing, and Jaime’s eyes, ignoring this admonishment, embark on a journey beginning at those long lashes with diamond-like droplets resting on them, then going on to those plump lips with a bit of smudged lipstick around them. His belly tightens when he pictures himself dislodging the rest of it with kisses that’d linger on her long after.

“I’ll go change and have a shower.”

As soon as she’s gone, he wanders up and down the length of the room, willing this little exercise to douse away the sparks she’s ignited in him and calm down the bulging excitement in his groin. But the clap of thunder outside only aggravates his desperation to peel that dress off her; to lick the rainwater trickling down the tempting swell of her breasts and suck the one or two trapped around her nipples. Thank the gods for her self-sufficient streak, for if it had not been for her determination to do things by herself, she might have depended on Renly— 

“Jaime?”

He stops pacing. “Yeah?”

“Can you come in here please?” 

Does she need him to… It can’t be… but it is. But then, what is it really? Only one way to find out—he does as told, but stops at the door. She’s grappling with her dress, struggling to get it off. “Help me out of this.” 

He obviously obliges. Working away slowly, he uncovers inches after inches of smooth skin with freckles that beg to be kissed, some dotted with water droplets that leave his throat dry and his arousal getting to a point that would need him to retire to his room and attend to it right now. He feels compelled to stay, though. The scent of the rain mixed with her shampoo pins him there, and he tries not to breath too heavily. But when the thin strip of her black bra lies bare before him, a delicious contrast to her porcelain back, he feels the sudden need to get some air.

“Did you kiss him?” he asks. Conversations often make good distractions.

She meets his eyes in the mirror. “Not tonight.” 

Hope creeps up, and with it, the strong urge to find out the extent of her interest in her handsome new date. “Will you… the next time?”

She holds the dress to her chest when he’s gone down the entire length of it. “I might.”

He knows she’s done with his help, knows he should just get the fuck out of here, but he doesn’t budge, nor do his hands which are now playing with the straps on her shoulders. “While this might have been your first date, you’ve known him for a while… as a friend.” His fingers take an aimless walk along the slender restraints of her bra. “Are you in love with him?”

He knows he has trespassed into unwelcome territory when she goes all stiff and straight. “I can manage the rest—”

“Right. Sorry.” Why the fuck is he sounding so sullen? “I’ll leave you to—”

Jaime lets go of her, and when he walks out, there’s a knot in his chest that wasn’t there before.


	3. Dabbling in erotica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime stumbles upon a word document on Brienne's laptop.

“Can I borrow your laptop again?”

“Sure,” Brienne replies, without looking up from her work. Jaime’s laptop is out for servicing, and having no backup device, he has been using hers wherever his tablet wouldn’t suffice.

“Hey, there’s a word document you’ve left open,” he calls out. “You want me to close it or leave it like that?”

“What document?”

“Something titled _Bliss unlimited_.”

Horror-struck, she bolts out of the living room to seize and retrieve her secret before any damage is done, it’s too late. He welcomes her with a roguish grin when she’s at his bedroom door.

“Well, well.” Jaime winks as she approaches his bed, then returns to the screen. “I didn’t know you write in your free time.”

“Give me that—” She reaches for the laptop, but he turns it out of her reach.

“Please let me read,” he begs. “I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

Now that he knows what it is, and has probably read quite a bit of it, there’s no point really in resisting. She sits beside him, counting seconds until this is over and she can rest in peace. If only she had not accidentally opened it and just forgotten about it before putting the laptop to sleep.

“Fine,” she grudgingly consents.

He clears his throat, then begins, “ _How I wish your sexy lips were on mine—_ ”

“You don’t have to read it aloud!”

“But that’s the whole fun in it.” His devilish expression is back when he resumes. 

_“I love the way you lick them, that tongue swirling back and forth—_ ”

He goes on to paint a detailed picture of her fictitious lover’s mouth and how she’d like him to use it. Not entirely an imaginary character, though, because thanks to that fateful moustache, it was Jaime she had based this little extract on. How had she been foolish enough not to tuck away in some remote dungeon on her hard drive?

“ _Those lips pressed against mine, that tongue, I need desperately tangled in mine,_ ” he goes on with just the right dramatic effect, his voice gentle and seductive, just the way he speaks in her head. “ _You smother me with kisses hot and wild. Gently probing and teasing, tasting, demanding._ ”

He looks up. “Wow!”

“Shut up and read the damn thing quickly.” Hot all over, she bites the inside of her cheek. “And in your mind, if you don’t mind.”

That mischievous grin is back. “Oh, no.”

Of course he’s going to recite every line and study her reaction. Fortunately she is with Renly now, and this isn’t going to bother her in _that_ way at least. Now that she has a boyfriend, she has no need to pen down such stuff anymore.

“ _I shiver when you drift down my neck. Soft and tender, you are every woman’s dream. Slowly, you ascend the curve of my breast, and leaving soft licks in your wake, you stop at my nipple._ ” 

He pauses there. His eyes are unreadable. Is he picturing some naked blonde in his head? His type, pretty and petite? He wouldn’t have to make much of an effort to find one— a charming smile would do. Women of all shapes and sizes and ages would immediately queue up for his attention. And sooner or later, he’s going to find one to his liking. 

But then, she has Renly. She doesn’t have to be jealous anymore.

“ _My nipple peaks at your touch; I can’t stifle a moan when you circle there. Arousal pools between my legs. I can feel the heat rising, slowly beginning to take me down. Or will you be the one to shatter me to pieces?_ ”

He takes another break to offer his opinion. “That was—”

“Don’t you start mocking me,” she warns, not liking his almost infinitely long search for words to describe his feelings about it.

“I’m not going to,” he says, then surprisingly reads in his mind, the rest of the explicit details of the oral pleasure her lover showers on her. The graphic fucking that follows it also, fortunately, does not make it past his head. He pours into all of it, engrossed without a single comment. But this leaves Brienne dangling with an uncertainty. Does he like it? Is it so awful that he cringes at the thought of hearing himself read it?

“This—” he starts abruptly, but another long pause comes along. “ _When you hold me, my world stands still,”_ he reads from the last segment which is how she’d like their post-coital moments to be. _“It is our breathing and no more. Time has stopped, and there are just the two of us. This is the calm I crave. Your arms, I never wish to leave, never breaking this connection, never letting this passion between us turn cold. ‘I love you’, I whisper in your chest, and when you say it back to me, I close my eyes and curl into you._ ”

Jaime closes the laptop and hands it to her. “I never knew you write such good erotica.”

“I don’t _write_ erotica,” she defends herself. “I just happened to type out this one when—”

“—you were particularly horny for Renly.”

Brienne doesn’t answer, and it works to her advantage. The shift in his expression to a scowl tells her he has taken it as a yes.

“Nice hobby, actually. You might have done even better if Renly weren’t your muse.”

“It’s not a hob—”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about it,” he says encouragingly. “I did dabble in something like this a few years back—”

“You?” She gapes at him. Words aren’t alien to him, but sarcasm is his speciality, not romance. “You write—”

“Not writing. I tried a bit of audio erotica once.”

Brienne’s attention is drawn to one such popular audio artist she has subscribed to. “Those tingly ASMR ones that make you feel things right from the go?”

He nods.

Him whispering gently down a woman’s ears? Brienne can’t help a laugh. “You’re kidding me.” 

“What?” He doesn’t look like he’s joking, though. “You think I can’t talk dirty?” 

No doubt he’s sexy. Any woman would melt if he talks to her like that, but she finds it hard to picture him moaning made-up filth into a thirsty female audience’s ears.

He’s looking at her like she’s thrown some challenge at him. “You seem unconvinced. I can prove it.”

“Prove?” Does he have some secret stash of recordings hidden somewhere?

“Turn around and close your eyes, wench.” When she does, she knows he’s right behind her. 

“ _Oh, Brienne,_ ” he begins, and it feels like he’s actually saying this to her. “ _You’re so beautiful. Lying here, on my bed, you are mine—_ ”

Her toes curl at the way he says _mine._ “ _There’s a storm outside,_ ” he purrs seductively. Unlike his professional counterparts, he isn’t armed with a specialised mic to shower his listeners with the effects they come for, yet, he catches on to her senses with exactly the same intensity. “ _And what better way to keep warm than—_ ” He doesn’t finish the sentence, a growl, in its place, trickling down her ear.

“ _I want to kiss you,_ ” he whispers, shifting to the other ear, breathing along her neck as he goes. “ _I want those full lips parting gently at first touch, trembling, then flush against mine, soft and pliant.”_ In her mind, a movie begins to play. It is hot as hell. “ _It is not just your lips, I want, but the warmth of your skin, your sweat on my tongue, to dip into your honeyed cunt—_ ”

He breaks into intimate details about how he’d like to pleasure her. Shivers and tingles when she’s immersed in stuff like this is nothing now, but that this is Jaime is, and that doubles the tension inside her as he croons along.

“ _Oh, baby,_ ” he sighs, and it goes right down to her cunt. No one has called her baby before, except the audio guy, of course. “ _My lips brush yours, but that is not enough._ ” Such a wonderful bit of voice acting this is! She can feel his need in those words, his desperation, his yearning for his muse. “ _I kiss you deeper, my tongue slipping into your mouth. My fingers flutter down your smooth neck, then go down further, taking your soft breasts, squeezing them, caressing them—_ ”

She shifts, pressing her thighs together. Maybe sitting down for this was a bad idea.

“ _You wrap me in your embrace, and I cannot resist those pretty tits._ ” He’s all hoarse now. The audio guy most certainly had a face in her head. But that face, one day, showing up as the voice was not at all something she’d anticipated.

“ _I lick and suck and kiss your sweet nipples,_ ” he says huskily. He has not laid a finger on her, yet, here she is, hot and horny, and aching for him between her legs. “ _I’m hard as hell, babe. Starving for you. You’re the only one. My thick, hot cock yearns for your warmth. I reach between us, play with your wetness—gods, you need me so badly!_ ”

It is all vivid and elaborate in her head. So fucking vivid!

“ _I dive into your warmth, and you hold my tongue, shuddering around it, your thighs crushing my head and pushing me deeper, your fingernails bruising my arm. Every shiver has my name written on it. Every moan is mine.”_

There it is. The ‘ _mine’_ again.

“ _You like it, don’t you?”_ he goes, and she has to agree, although, like is an understatement. “ _You love it when I devour you like that, when I suck your clit—”_

More of it unfolds in her mind. She can feel herself opening up, her arousal beating desperately against his lips. He sucks, and she has to hold the edge of the bed. Words and the images—they both leave her dizzy and short in breath. 

She must have slipped through some visible reaction, because he pauses. “Do you want me to continue? Or are you—”

“I’m used to this,” she says, steadying her voice to the best extent possible. “It doesn’t affect me anymore.” 

Taking that as a green signal, Jaime goes on, laying out in elaborate detail what he’d like to do to his muse.

“ _I love teasing you, watching your pretty eyes darken with lust when I slide my cock up and down your wetness. You whimper with need. My need. You grab my hair, bite my lip. But I won’t give it to you unless you ask me, honey._ ”

 _Yes. Fuck me,_ demands her dirty mind. Her heart rate shoots through the ceiling.

“‘ _I want your cock’, you say, when you can’t resist me anymore,_ ” he growls with relish, then dips down to a softer, hushed tone. “ _I_ _am yours. Will always be yours.”_

When the thrusts begin, she tries not to squirm. The feral grunts he fills her ear with adds fuel to the fire rising inside her. “ _I go down harder, push deeper, and you take me with sigh after lustful sigh. Your kisses are mine again, my lips crushing yours, your teeth skimming along my tender skin, our tongues dancing together as I plunge deep inside you.”_

_Yes. Yes… yes… yes..._

“ _Say my name,_ ” he cries possessively, his pitch rising, his breath shifting to the beat of their heavy pounding in her head. _“Say it—”_

_Make me come, Jaime._

His cock. His groping hands. The hunger in his lips. 

The tension builds. Holds her at his mercy.

“ _I can’t take it anymore,_ ” he rasps, panting between his words. “ _I can’t. I just—_ ” 

She can’t either. It has gotten to a point where—

“ _Fuck,”_ he ejaculates, and that is when she opens her eyes. Thighs tightly shut, knees clamped together, she can barely breathe.

 _“I love you,”_ he says, in just above a whisper, and it feels so damn real. “ _And when you say it back to me, I wrap you in my arms, never to let go of you._ ” 

He’s done after the tenderness of the afterglow, but numbed, fingers still gripping the edge of the bed, she doesn’t budge.

When Brienne can feel the sensation in her legs again, she gets up hoping she isn’t looking flushed from whatever he has put her through. “Goodnight, Jaime.”

“Wait. You never said how it was.”

“I already told you.” Talking to him is a struggle. So is coming to terms with the fact that the last few minutes were just a piece of fine acting. “You’re good. But I’ve listened to loads of these before, so I’m afraid it didn’t create the impact you were looking for.”

He looks slightly disappointed.

“You could give it a shot if you want,” she says, picking up the laptop, the aftereffects still tugging at her groin. “You really are good, Jaime.”

“You say you aren’t affected, but you look a bit… flustered,” he observes, when she heads to the door. “Has all this left you with unspeakable thoughts of Renly?”

“Umm… sort of,” she bluffs.

“Have you—” His eyes shrink. “Have you and him—”

“Not yet,” she hurriedly informs him. Renly aside, something else strikes her. “By any chance, are you the erotic audio guy with the huge fan following?” she asks. They sound similar. It could well be Jaime. “You know who I’m talking about—”

Jaime laughs. “Fortunately for him, no. I could give him a run for his money, though.” 

“Oh, he’s amazing,” Brienne gushes, then realizing the lie she’d made up about this not arousing her anymore, she tapers down to a, “I used to once have a tough time listening to him in public. But now I’m immune.”

“That man only reigns because I chose not to uncover my talents,” he boasts. “I’m not averse to private sessions, though, so—”

“Yeah. Maybe you can offer them to one of those pretty blondes who hover around you all the time,” Brienne snaps, and before he can reply, she storms out of there.


	4. Yoga or something else?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a Sunday morning, Jaime walks in on Brienne doing yoga. She insists he join her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer : I know nothing about yoga.

Trouble strikes Jaime without warning when he runs into one of her morning yoga sessions.

Those endless legs covered only by a pair of shorts that are, well… _short_ , strong arms that would feel _oh-so-good_ around him, stretching, folding, the swell of those breasts beneath the sweat-soaked shirt—he finds himself unabashedly ogling her, drifting into forbidden fantasies and things that would be better off entering his mind in solitude—

“Why have you been standing there, staring?”

Throat too dry to push out a word, he doesn’t know what to make of her admonishment. Is she going to think he’s been sneaking up on her like some sort of— 

“Come in here and join me.”

Relieved, but still bewitched by the way Brienne effortlessly bends and flexes her body, he stands there like a lamppost, unable to move, unable to react, the twitching and throbbing between his legs refusing to tone down at his desperate bidding. “Down, buddy,” he mutters under his breath to his little friend downstairs, who, by the way things are looking, won’t be that _little_ for long.

“Jaime—”

“Yeah?” Even his voice shivers at the prospect of her close proximity. 

“Get your ass up here,” she calls, beckoning to the spare mat beside her. 

_Yeah, yeah, like that is gonna help a lot,_ he mumbles to himself, hoping for his body to cool down before she can notice. She has barely even started with him, and there’s already more than one stream of sweat trickling away beneath his shirt.

“Now be quick about it—”

“I’m not really a yoga person.” Running away right now to nip it in the bud with a cold shower is the only way he can keep from sprouting a full-blown boner in front of his friend and roommate. “What I’d like is a good cup of coffee.”

“The coffee isn’t going anywhere.” Damn the stubborn wench for refusing to give in. “Come on.” She pauses, and straightening her back, puts on one of those steely expressions there’s no escape from. “You can give it a try.” When he refuses to move an inch, those pretty eyes soften, return to being pretty again. “Just some simple poses.”

“Fine.” Grumbling under his breath, he ambles across to her, thankful he is safe so far.

“We can try the Mountain pose or the _Tadasana_ to begin with,” she starts, like one of those professional gurus he has come across on televised classes. “Observe me.” She gets into position, and all she does is… _stand_. “What?” she asks, not happy that he’s watching her with skepticism.

“You’re doing nothing big.”

“Not everything has to be big.”

 _Yeah,_ he agrees. If only his cock would take her advice and stay within bounds for as long as she subjects him to this.

“It looks quite basic, but helps strengthen your stomach and hips,” she explains, giving him a look that tells him he needs to quit whining and finding excuses and get into action.

He doesn’t know about strengthening, but _tightening_ of muscles is something he sure is suffering from right now.

“Stand with your feet directly under your hips,” she instructs, “body straight and in a line. Try and distribute your weight evenly.” She demonstrates as she speaks, now slowly for his benefit. “Hands on your sides by your thighs, palms parallel to your legs. Then lift your body, stretch your ankles, heels up—”

“On tiptoes,” he observes, making a note that this will bring the difference in their heights to zero if she stands normally. Also, it occurs to him, without him meaning it to, that their lips would be in perfect alignment when they face each other. His eyes stray to her mouth, distracting him from what he’s meant to be watching, those droplets of perspiration gleaming on her upper lip claiming his attention, her flushed cheeks— 

“Then breathe.” She closes her eyes to concentrate. “Inhale.” Her shoulders roll back a little and her chest puffs out, only slightly, but enough to bring to his unintentional notice the pebbly peaks of her nipples pushing into her tee. “Stay like this,” she chants, “and hold your breath—”

 _You have no clue how much more than that I’m going to have to hold..._

“Count till three.” And she does. When she’s done, she exhales in a steady pattern. “There’s another variation to this one,” she says excitedly when she’s done. “Watch carefully.”

 _I am watching quite intently, wench._ And damn, he doesn’t even have the option to look away. If only there was a mechanism to switch off the horny bits in one’s body and brain…

Brienne begins this _variation_ by raising her arms over her head. “Stretch backwards, then bring your hands together, linking your fingers behind your head with the palms facing upwards.” Her breasts, jutting forward in this second level pose, are even more _enhanced_ now. Her t-shirt rides up, exposing her waist, and even from here he can see the sweat beads circled like a necklace around her belly-button.

“Look to the skies. Inhale.”

He does, wishing it to ease him out of the turmoil building in his pants.

“Hold.”

He’s trying. But it doesn’t look like he’d be successful for long.

“Then exhale as before.” Her chest relaxing, those arms come down to position zero. “And now you try.”

“Umm—” Blank, he gapes at her. How is he going to tell her he failed to register a single thing she’s just demonstrated? “I don’t think this will work out for me,” he begins, ready to bolt away, but she’s already behind him, her hands perching on his hips.

“Give it a go. I’ll correct you if you stray.”

_I happened to stray the moment I stepped in here._

“Go on. Start, at least.”

Jaime tries to recollect, gets into something that feels like the standing straight position he vaguely remembers.

“Good, now slowly bring your arms up.” Her hands are on his, their fingers kissing like tentative lovers would for the first time, and when she guides him into stretching, the parts of him trying to stretch are not just the ones she can see. “Back slightly forward,” she whispers, her mouth aligned with his ear now that they’re both the same height. “In a straight line—” Her hands caress his hips; he leans into her, instead of arching his back, and when her nipples brush against him, the pressure in his crotch builds up. “The other way.” Her hand is on his back, nudging him into the right posture. He can only thank his good fortune that he’s wearing his baggies today. “Now inhale.”

_Not with you breathing down my neck like this._

But since he has to, he does.

“Exhale,” she continues in the same monotone, bringing his hands slowly down. “Relax as you go. You can feel the tension slipping away, the stress leaving you.” 

_All I can feel is the tension mounting._ As for the stress, he’d have to shut himself up and do something about it before it kills him.

“Well—” Stepping away, she wears a proud look, and now that there’s a few feet between them again, Jaime heaves a sigh of relief. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” she beams.

_Yeah. Sure._

He nods, pretending to look refreshed. “That was a good first lesson. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere.” Her glee is his doom. What excuse could he possibly make? Today being Sunday morning, he has no place to be, no schedule to keep up with. 

“My back aches,” he grunts, hoping this final trump card might dissuade her.

“You might then want to try out the cat-cow bend,” she happily suggests, getting ready to show him whatever this is. “It strengthens the back and helps ease back aches.” Down on all fours, she crouches, looking like a—

 _Doggy,_ his dirty mind yelps, and Jaime groans to himself, knowing what to expect.

“It’s not that difficult,” she begins to elaborate, completely misinterpreting his concern. “Watch me.” She takes a deep breath, she arches her back and thrusts her butt out, that perfect ass standing out like a work of art. “Now all you have to do is—”

Brienne’s busy rattling off what he’s supposed to move how, but all he can notice are her thrusts. Just like that day he had given her an audio session, images begin to pile up in his head. They’re so graphic that he doesn’t know what to do with them or how to make them go away. 

“You keep going like this.” Slow and sensual, she moves smoothly, and unbidden, he pictures himself behind her—

“Push out.”

_Then in. Yes. Oh, yes._

“Then you repeat,” she pants. “This back and forth movement warms the back.”

And a lot more.

Her breathing gets prominent, just like it would in the furious heat of fucking. “Even if you aren’t a yoga enthusiast,” she grunts, carrying on with her fluid movements, “this is something you can surely practice.” 

_In the bedroom. With me standing behind you,_ his naughty bits let slip his naughty thoughts. Doggy is his second favourite after missionary. This—her repeated engagement in something that’s far from an exercise in his eyes is not something he’d signed up for when he woke up this morning. 

“You go now.” Thankfully she’s back on two feet. “Down, now.”

“Nah,” he refuses. This isn’t right. She has a boyfriend. He isn’t supposed to think of her like that. Not if he does not wish to ruin their friendship.

“Just this last one, Jaime.”

There’s that look again. Of course, now he can’t refuse. He goes down on his knees, and when she hovers around him to monitor, he can barely breathe, let alone inhale and exhale in a predefined rhythm.

“You’re too stiff.” Her hands are on his thighs. That only makes him coil in further. “Easy,” she says, and his cock pushes against its restraints. “You need to let go.”

_As soon as you let me go._

Her fingers glide upwards, tips brushing the inside of his thighs, and the crushing sensation in the depths of his belly heightens. His cock wants to yield to her; his will wants to put up a fight. For the moment, both are evenly placed. The only thing he is thankful for is that he is not on his back.

“Start thrusting now.”

_You bet I want to!_

Only the fear of further physical intervention from her compels him to mimic what she’d shown him.

“That’s it.”

Flexing and extension of the spine. Stretching. She might have many words for what he’s going through, but he can just pin it to one.

“Coordinate your movements with your breath, Jaime.”

 _Both of which are getting heavier by the second._ He pushes his cock as far in as it would go in the expectation that it might alleviate things, but it only aggravates, making him want her even more.

“Now slow down. Feel the calm spreading all over you as you come to a halt.”

_Yeah, right. Calm._

When the ordeal is over, he sits down cross-legged, desperate to conceal things though he knows none of it is visible. One of the advantages of yoga is that nothing would feel odd about this… _pose_.

And now he breathes.

“That’s not the right way,” she disapproves, glaring at him. “You must relax; ease yourself into a seated position and not just flop down on the floor like this is some casual—”

“I’m relaxed enough,” he snaps. He is _certainly_ not going to relax anytime soon. It is not yet a full erection, but another _pose_ with her will surely bring him to that. 

“Why not try the _Savasana_?” she starts afresh. “It’s the easiest. You lie down on your back—”

_—with my damn arousal exposed to you?_

This is good enough to have him scrambling to his feet. “I can do that on my bed, wench. Whenever I want.”

“But, Jaime, you’ve only tried two—”

“Thanks for the session, though I don’t think I’d want to do it again,” he firmly turns her down this time, heading for his bedroom before she can trap him again. “This one’s good enough to last a while.”


End file.
